


The Underwhelming Mating Rituals of Sourwolf

by georgialeigh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgialeigh/pseuds/georgialeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes back from college and things just happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Underwhelming Mating Rituals of Sourwolf

Stiles left - went to college at Berkeley, sent postcards to the pack from his semester abroad in Spain, graduated magna cum laude with his dual major in Computer Science and Spanish. 

Derek started skyping with Stiles during his junior year - Stiles would update the bestiary from afar with new information, and they sometimes talked about Cora and her pack in South America, sometimes Derek just needed Stiles’ recipe for beef stroganoff or chicken enchiladas on pack dinner nights when he was stuck hosting. Weirdly, they become friends. Stiles breaks through Derek’s gruff barrier - even comes out to Derek, explains that, well, hey “I like guys, too, I think,” and Derek just says, “Same.”

Stiles graduates and he has his house with his roommates at Berkeley paid up for the summer on Hillegass Avenue. It’s a Queen Anne Victorian and Stiles’ room takes up the whole top floor. Derek comes to visit him, they go out to bars and Stiles discovers that werewolves can in fact get drunk, and stupidly high on weed from Stiles’ roommate Kirk.

“What’re you gonna do when the lease is up?” Derek asks at the beginning of August.

“Dunno,” Stiles shrugged. He’d been on a full scholarship at Berkeley. He didn’t have loans, and he’d worked in the library and had interned for Google. He was doing some contract work for a holdings company based out of San Francisco, and that paid more than most jobs would pay in a week.

It turns out that thanks to Stiles’ poor planning, he packs up the Jeep and drives home to Beacon Hills. The company he’s been doing contract work for hires him to work full-time from home, which means from his childhood bedroom and/or the sheriff’s kitchen table that he now shares with Melissa McCall, and the guest room has been turned into Scott’s room, even though he has an apartment with Allison now.

“So weird, living at home again,” Stiles complains to Scott at the Clinic one afternoon after he’s finished his daily assignments. 

“Weird that my mom and your dad ended up together, too,” Scott says. “Nothing against your dad. He’s way better than mine.”

Stiles shrugs. It takes three weeks of the Sheriff asking him where he’s going when he leaves to go to the coffee shop to do his work or to the bar on Main Street with the pack for drinks before Stiles is at the door to Derek’s loft with a backpack stuffed with a change of clothes and his laptop.

Derek doesn’t ask questions or complain. Stiles works at the counter in the kitchen, eats a peanut butter and nutella sandwich and downs a can of soda at lunch, closes his computer at three o’clock and naps on the couch for an hour before going back to the computer and starting up on a second project. Derek makes dinner at six - he’s been out all day, came in while Stiles was napping and read an ancient biblical looking book with the TV on mute while Stiles worked. They have roast chicken legs with cucumber and avocado gazpacho (Derek’s new specialty thanks to Pinterest, what the actual fuck?)

Stiles goes back to work after dinner, and when he notices it’s ten-thirty, he turns to go to bed and notices the couch is all made up, including a fitted and flat sheet, duvet, and two pillows. Christ.

In the morning, he hasn’t even had his second cup of coffee when Derek drops the atom bomb of all questions.

“There’s a two-bedroom condo for rent on El Camino. We could split the rent,” he says evenly, sliding a folder with information on the complex and pictures of the condo in it towards Stiles, still 85% asleep.

“Cool, sounds good.”

The place is gorgeous, Stiles finds out that afternoon when he co-signs the lease with Derek. It has a patio and a fireplace and glass shower doors and a dishwasher. It’s in a one-story building, half blue siding, half brick (it sounds cooler than it looks).

“How the hell are we gonna fill this place? It echoes!” Stiles laughed a little. He’s kind of surprised after all this time that, well, seven years ago, Derek Hale wanted to eat him alive for crossing his family’s property line.

“We’ll figure it out,” Derek shrugs.

Stiles is amenable. His dad grumbles when he tells him he’s moving in with Derek, because, well Derek is rough around the edges but it’s more that his son wants to move away from his retired old man. To appease him, he spends a few nights at home, cooks dinner, doesn’t really talk to Derek much, which he realizes belatedly might’ve been a dick move, but hey, Stiles is always a few steps behind socially, but Derek is light years, so whatever.

Stiles figures he should stop by the condo to check out some measurements for furniture. What he doesn’t expect is… well, Derek’s nesting. He’s actually fussing with a mirror he hung in the half bathroom by the kitchen when Stiles comes in.

“What the actual…?” Stiles is looking around. There’s a leather sectional - but it’s like, soft leather, like bullhide, from Restoration Hardware, and there’s a pedestal dining table in the formal dining area with a literal centerpiece on it.

“We need to talk about something,” Derek says, pulls a chair out from the table and sits. Stiles sits opposite him. “Don’t freak out,” he starts, and Stiles rolls his eyes. He knows better than to get worked up. They’ve dealt with a lot over the years, and stump-grinding the shit out of the nemeton has kind of put a damper on the ‘beacon’ part of Beacon Hills, finally, so it can’t be anything too bad. “Wolves have mates…” 

“Like Twilight? Like you imprint?” Stiles looks around. Ah. Derek has a mate, he figures, for whom he is providing.

“Not like Twilight. But there is a certain level of… soul bonding,” Derek grits out. 

“So, you found your mate! That would explain the nesting. Sweet couch, by the way. Just let me know when you guys will be uh, doing the dirty… roommate etiquette and all…” 

“Stiles,” Derek cuts off. “You’re my mate.” 

Stiles knows better than to knee-jerk react to this. He wants to bark out a laugh. Mates have to be able to procreate, don’t they?

“I’m not sure I fully understand what this entails,” Stiles says instead. He thanks Berkeley for his effective communication course.

“Generally, mates are meant for procreating, for expanding a pack. But, always, mates are meant to complement the strengths of one another. Your strength is communication, mine is… physicality, for example.”

Stiles wants to giggle at Derek using his words, but he doesn’t. Stiles always had a… sort of hard-on for Derek’s amazing ass and soft stubble and beautiful green eyes. He repressed it, though, knew Derek was no way going to ever be into Stiles, flailing limbs and moles and awkward.

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not exactly cut out for bearing children,” Stiles deadpans.

“On the contrary,” Derek sighs. “I would… carry our cubs. Babies. It’s ah, part of the mystique of the werewolf procreation… evolution.”

Stiles balks. 

“You really actually want to have my kids,” Stiles says.

“That would be the idea, yes,” Derek nods.

“You wanna date me,” Stiles grins, beaming. Derek blushes all over - cheeks, tips of his ears, and Stiles has always found that incredibly endearing. “This is like rule number one of roommates. You don’t date. But hey, I’ll bend if you will,” he winks, and Derek blushes further, and Stiles howls with laughter.

They settle into their routine, of roommates/potential mates. Stiles works, Derek… does whatever he does with the pack during the day. Erica and Boyd have moved in together, Isaac is working at an auto body shop in town, Danny’s working for the FBI, Scott works at the vet clinic, Allison and Kira are partners in the sheriff’s department, and Lydia is away at MIT working on getting that Fields Medal.

It’s a Friday morning when Derek comes in, sweaty, just a pair of basketball shorts hanging obscenely low on his hips.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” He chokes out, like he’s been coached on this. Stiles assumes this was Erica’s or Kira’s doing.

“Okay,” Stiles says. He can’t quite breathe with Derek looking so fucking sexy so early in the morning. He’s glad his mate is so… aesthetically pleasing. He’s talked to Scott about mates, read through a ton of texts on it, and realizes that (probably for Stiles’ benefit) Derek has severely downplayed the intensity of the bond, and that eventually, Stiles will feel it. Displays like this are only pushing them in the right direction, he figures.

Stiles works all day, takes his usual power nap at three on the couch (with a new fur throw, thanks to Derek) and when he wakes up, he yelps. There is a big fucking brown wolf staring at him, its snout resting on the cushion right in front of Stiles’ face.

“Oh my God! Derek, Jesus. You know I’ve never seen your wolf form, right? This is… you have to warn a guy!” 

Derek lets out a huff and patters away, curls up on the rug in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the doors that lead to the patio.

At seven, Stiles emerges from his room wearing a purple henley and khakis. Derek is wearing a burgundy shirt and dark jeans, nice brown leather shoes on, similar to Stiles’. 

“You look handsome,” Stiles says, voice cracking a little. Derek’s mouth quirks into a twinge of a smile.

Stiles knows that he may be the only person that Derek trusts completely in this world. He’s had his trust betrayed more than once - Kate, Jennifer, even Scott a few times pushed the limits with the alpha pack. Cora didn’t listen to him when he told her to relax and heal, his own uncle killed his older sister. But Stiles has always proven himself, not only as Scott’s first beta but as Derek’s best shot at survival - two hours treading water in a pool, the wolfbane incident when Kate rolled back into town…

Derek drives them to the new restaurant in town, ironically called Casanova, and they sit at a table in a room with a glass ceiling so they can see the stars.

“This is beautiful,” Stiles gushes after the waiter pours their water and leaves them to the menu.

“I’m glad you like it,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles blushes, because, wow. This is a real first date, unlike any of Stiles’ other forays into romance. There had been two girls his freshman year at Berkeley, a Spanish dude in Barcelona who he’d had sex with a few times, and a few others between Spain and graduation, but never had he ever been asked on a date, never had he asked anyone on a date like this, and for that he feels kind of bad, but… romance isn’t what it once was. For the first time, he appreciates the age difference between he and Derek.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Stiles starts. “But I actually don’t know how old you are.”

Derek snorts out a laugh and Stiles beams. He likes making Derek laugh.

“I’m twenty-seven,” Derek says. 

“That’s it?” Stiles is shocked. Derek doesn’t look old… but he is a burdened man, and the kind of baggage someone like that carries makes them somehow older without physically aging them.

They split a sampling of appetizers, and Derek orders linguine scapese and Stiles gets veal osso bucco and the food is amazing, as is the red wine Derek picked from their reserve list.

They talk about the pack - about Erica and Boyd, about Isaac, who Derek worries after endlessly, and they talk about Stiles’ work.

“Have you ever had a relationship with a guy before?” Stiles asks, feeling bold thanks to glass number three of the cabernet.

“I’ve had a few experiences, nothing more,” Derek admits, equally loose-lipped.

“Same,” Stiles agrees. They order cappuccinos with dessert - creme brulee - and Derek drives them home, his right hand holding Stiles’, his thumb rubbing soothingly.

They park and move slowly to the front door of the condo. 

“I had a good time tonight,” Stiles says, nervously shifting from left to right foot.

Derek takes a step into Stiles’ personal space, pressing him into the brick wall next to the front door. 

“Me, too,” Derek says. His voice is like velvet or chocolate, Stiles can’t decide, and then their lips are softly brushing, and Stiles wants more of that, yes, please, now. They taste like wine and Indian summer and mates and it’s so heady and Stiles is rock hard and hopes to God he’s not alone in that. 

Derek pulls away a moment later and unlocks the door.

“Goodnight,” he smiles, slides into his bedroom and clicks the door shut. Stiles gapes after him, but then, it was only their first date. Stiles silently curses the tease though, kissing him like that and leaving him hanging.

He hopes Derek can hear him jerking off in his bed, even if his room is at the other end of the condo. Make him suffer, ha.

In the morning Stiles makes omelets - with spinach, salsa from Whole Foods and feta. He toasts some English muffins and Derek comes out in a pair of what look like Stiles’ old flannel pajama bottoms he wore in high school.

“Dude, you stole my pants,” he says around a mouth full of egg and buttery bread. Derek ignores him, looking smug.

“Came all over them last night, too,” he says when they’ve finished eating and he’s loading the plates into the dishwasher.

Stiles squawks and flails a little before Derek retreats into his room for a shower. Saturdays are pack bonding days. Everyone will be over at Scott and Allison’s shortly, and Stiles honestly can’t wait to text Lydia all about his date with his favorite sourwolf.

They go on another date on Tuesday night, to a sushi place a few towns over. They kiss again, but Derek leaves Stiles hanging again, but Stiles has accepted that things are going to go slow with Derek. He doesn’t want to push. They go on a third date to the movies - some terrible horror movie that leaves them to make out in the back row.

Stiles is thrumming with want. It’s been two weeks and… Stiles hadn’t gotten laid since before graduation, and now it’s nearly Halloween, and he can’t take it anymore, his walking sex God of a roommate/mate constantly around, teasing him.

So, Stiles does what any rational human being would do.

He sneaks into Derek’s room after he’s gone out for a run on a Monday morning. He takes his time, finds some clean sweats of Derek’s and a shirt, puts them on. He teases himself to full-mast, playing with his ever-sensitive nipples and cupping his balls as he strokes himself to orgasm… all over Derek’s clothes, and a little bit on the duvet, accidentally. Stiles feels bad about that, honestly, since Derek likes nice things, like thousand thread count duvets from expensive designers Stiles has never heard of. He leaves the clothes folded neatly on top of Derek’s pillow and goes to shower before finishing his work for the day at the coffee shop in town.

When he gets home, though, he isn’t prepared. He isn’t ready for the candles and the flower petals and the Al Green and the low lighting and he so, so isn’t prepared for Derek laying naked on Stiles’ bed, like a fucking Adonis or statue of David.

It’s slow and it’s sexy and Derek is perfect in so many ways, reads Stiles like an open book. Stiles thinks if he could have sex like that at least once a month for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man.

They sleep together in Stiles’ bed, even though Derek’s is bigger, and in the morning they shower together and come together two more times before Stiles begs off to do his work and Derek goes to help Isaac at the shop.

It’s like that through Halloween, through Thanksgiving, through Christmas. Stiles bottoms, because they’re not ready to have kids, and because Stiles genuinely prefers it. 

John and Melissa welcome Derek into their home as Stiles’ boyfriend, and there’s family dinners on Tuesday nights and they all rotate cooking duties. It’s at one of these family dinners that Allison and Scott announce their pregnancy - Allison is just three months along, and Stiles quirks an eyebrow at Derek who smiles knowingly, most likely since he could probably sense the change in her smell, the glow in her cheeks.

“We’re gonna be uncles,” Stiles says. “That baby is going to be way too cute.”

“Not as cute as ours,” Derek winks and it makes Stiles’ heart do a funny flip but he likes it. He likes that he knows who he’s having kids with.

“How is that going to work? Do I tell my dad and Melissa?”

“I think it would be best that everyone in the pack know the truth of the situation,” Derek says.

It’s Valentine’s Day when Derek goes into heat.

“I can give you something to suppress it, or give you some contraceptives, but… they’re not a guarantee,” Deaton says, always stoic. Allison has just discovered she’s having twins.

“Always multiples with wolves,” Derek had said, and Stiles had gulped nervously. “And I’m a born wolf, whereas Scott was bitten.”

“We have to talk about this,” Stiles said to Deaton and Derek. They went home, Stiles got a cold compress for Derek, cranked the air conditioning, and bundled up. “Mates are for life,” Stiles says. “So, if you’re worried that we might have these pups… these babies, and I’ll run out, it’s not going to happen. This is you and me, forever. It might be… it might be hard, hell, I know it will be… but… we can do it. We’ve handled way worse.”

Derek agrees. Stiles takes him apart slowly that night and puts him back together. The fever breaks in the morning, and the reality sets in.

“We’re having babies.”

They go to Deaton for the prenatal vitamins, for the werewolf parenting handbook (someone in Wisconsin made one up for humans in packs and self-published, sent Deaton a few copies). 

Allison’s belly swells with the beginning of her third trimester. The twins are kicking and Stiles is already so in love with them.

“Our babies are only going to be four months apart,” she says happily.

Derek doesn’t like that he can’t exercise as rigorously, and his abs have already started to go, and the food cravings have set in. He doesn’t have morning sickness, but he can’t shift into his full wolf form either until he delivers.

The spring comes, Stiles turns twenty-three, the pack has a big party at the sheriff’s and Derek presents him with the deed to an 8,000 square foot home in the ‘ritzy section’ of Beacon Hills as Stiles’ dad refers to it. Their backyard overlooks the reservoir - a big body of crystal blue water. There’s a gorgeous garden and a patio that wraps around the house and a garden that’s been more than well-maintained. It’s on a hill and the whole inside is white - white walls, hardwood floors (not white) and even the bricks on the outside of the house are beige instead of brown or red.

It’s light and airy and there’s big windows everywhere and it’s home.

Allison delivers a boy and a girl in June - Gabriel (Gabe) Christopher and Lila Grace McCall. They’re little pudge balls of love and light and happiness - Allison’s dimples and bright eyes and Scott’s dark hair and joyous demeanor.

Stiles falls in love with his niece and nephew. Derek falls in love with Stiles falling in love with them, thinks of how he’ll be with their pups - all three of them at once, too.

Derek swells up with their babies, and late one night as Stiles kneads the pressure in his lower back, Derek whispers, “I love you,” and Stiles kisses him and says, “I love you,” right back.

The summer fades and Derek gets bigger, if at all possible. He’s about 95% bed ridden. Stiles, luckily, can stay home and work and if Derek needs something, Derek gets it. Allison brings the babies by and they coo and burble and Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready for three more on top of all the existing cuteness.

“They could all come out human, you know,” Derek says. Stiles laughs.

“What are the odds of that happening?”

“Well, genetically speaking, probably low. One could definitely though. We have to be prepared for that, when they get older,” Derek says.

“Did you have humans in your family?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Cousins,” Derek shrugs. “Ones I stayed with in New York with Laura after the fire.”

Autumn comes and Derek turns 28 on a rainy Thursday in early October.

“One more month, papa wolf,” Stiles grins at his mate and kisses him. They have devil’s food cake with whipped cream and strawberries (Derek’s favorite and Stiles made it from scratch). Stiles gets a raise at work for a project well done a week later. 

Scott comes over with Gabe and Lila and helps Stiles put together the three cribs that are going in the nursery. There are three bassinets, too, lined up at the foot of the California King bed in the master suite. There’s two changing tables, because they can only do things one at a time and they don’t have the money to hire a werewolf-friendly nanny, nor the desire.

Thankfully, Stiles’ office has given him eight weeks of paid maternity leave, starting November 16th, which is the day Derek’s c-section is scheduled at Deaton’s.

There’s a blend of wolfsbane to keep him sedate, and Stiles will hold his hand through the whole thing, and Mrs. McCall is leading the receiving line of babies - Lydia flew in especially for the occasion, the least she could do as collective godmother.

And the day comes, and Stiles is panicky - he feels weird about his kids being born in a vet clinic, but they won’t know the difference, anyway, right? Right.

It takes a half an hour top to bottom - and there they are - three very scarily identical babies - Stella Blue, Oliver John, and Emma Sophia - all seven pounds, all nineteen inches long and beautiful.

Derek heals, and Lydia stays at the Stilinski/Hale residence - she’s on independent study for her PhD, so she can do those things - so somehow wrangling three beautiful babies who are oddly calm, in the way they must’ve learned from Derek - it isn’t so hard when she absolutely has to back to Boston after the New Year. But by then, the babies are sleeping through the night, and Stiles is back working, and Derek has fully embraced his role as traditional mommy.

Stiles never thought he could love these little monsters with their poop and spit-up and unforeseen tantrums. They love their daddies.

“I love them so much,” Stiles says one night to a probably sleeping Derek.

“Me, too,” he smiles sleepily and Stiles kisses him.

It doesn’t come as a huge shock to them that while Stella and Oliver are flashing their eyes yellow after twelve weeks, but Emma Sophia is quiet and reserved and Derek can smell her simple humanity.

“She’s not a wolf,” Derek declares.

“Do you think she’ll hate them, later?”

“I think we have to be careful,” Derek acknowledges, and Stiles agrees, and reads up on it in the parenting handbook. Scott and Allison bring their babies by, they have ‘play dates’ mainly where the pups roll around on the carpet in the living room and babble senselessly while the parents try to have some semblance of a social life over coffee and bagels.

Stiles loves how normal his life is. He loves working in his office overlooking the water, he loves changing diapers and kissing Derek goodnight. His dad and Melissa babysit one night a week (after the pups go to sleep, of course) so Stiles and Derek can go make out in the new drive-in movie theater or giggle over a shared bottle of wine at Casanova, their go-to favorite.

Before he knows it, the triplets are six months old, Derek’s abs are back, and then, well, then Stiles’ dad gets sick.

His mom had frontotemporal dementia. His dad has pancreatic cancer. 

Stiles curls into himself after his dad tells him. He holds himself together until he gets to his car (a Ford Explorer) and he screams and pounds the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and he sobs and cries and shakes for ten minutes before pulling away from the curb. He goes home and pulls his babies to his chest in their big bed and lets Derek hold him while he cries. He’s twenty-four now. He hasn’t seen his mom in sixteen years. He visits her grave site frequently. He knows the plot next to it is reserved for his dad.  
“I’m going to be an orphan,” Stiles croaked in the middle of the night, after Derek tucked the babies into their cribs.

“It’s not so bad, after a while,” Derek says. Stiles whimpers into Derek’s warm chest. Derek gives him an Ambien - Stiles sometimes can’t fall asleep, for one reason or another - and Stiles is out like a light.

Derek can take physical pain away, but he can’t take this.

“Our babies won’t know their grandparents,” Stiles cries in the morning when he wakes up.

It’s like that for a few weeks. Stiles wakes up with tears in his eyes, but is so exhausted he falls asleep in Derek’s arms easily. Derek makes sure he eats - makes him smoothies because chewing is too much to ask at this point. 

Stiles goes to all of his dad’s appointments at the oncologist and radiologist and the prognosis is the same. It’s already metastasized in a few spots, which is why pancreatic cancer is so deadly. His dad has less than a year even with treatment.

He does the treatment though.

“I’m gonna see those babies turn one,” he says with wet eyes. He apologizes to Stiles, to Claudia in heaven, to Melissa for the drinking. He wishes he could take it back. He spends most days with the babies. 

Gabe and Lila turn one, there’s a big barbecue at Scott and Allison’s. The summer wears on, and Stiles hates himself because after, he hardly remembers any of it. He remembers his dad being there, being happy with his kids, loving them, loving him. But then he collapses on Mischief Night and then he’s in hospice care, and he’s gone before the triplets turn one.

He’s a retired police officer, so the church is packed to the hilt and Stiles somehow pulls himself together enough to deliver a eulogy. He cries through the whole thing, as does everyone in the whole church. The burial is private - only Stiles, Scott, Derek, Allison and Melissa and the babies are there, each of them holding one.

Stiles thought that the first year of his babies’ lives would be the best. It was probably the worst.

Derek takes the opportunity to announce that Stiles can afford to take a year off from work. There’s a trust fund, from the insurance after the fire, and Stiles had a little bit of an inheritance. Melissa sells the house for Stiles and moves to Carmel, a forty-minute drive away.

So Stiles quits his job, and lets himself be swallowed up whole by his family, his mate, his pack. He heals.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys like what I have so far, please comment & I'll consider finishing it... right now it just feels meh to me?


End file.
